The road this far can't be retraced
It is a chilly, January night. The year is nineteen-seventy... nineteen-seventy ... three... 1973, if I recall correctly. It is becoming quite difficult to tell the years apart at this point. My disgusting, lanky figure faces out the front window, watching the leaves gently graze the wind as countless misguided quills to the empty scripture. My head lowers and I sulk with an apologetic remorse, as if to say "though I constantly debate your existence in my head, I'll act as though I believe you're up there so I can trick you in to forgiving me for what I've done."
The door slowly creeks open. A bright light quickly fills this room, the moonlight overtaken. So sudden, abrupt, as though a knife had been driven in to its back. There was nothing the moonlight could do to stop it.
"I need you out here now, Mr. Barrineau."
I turn to face her. A clipboard clenched tightly under her left arm, and one of my shoes held softly against her chest with her right hand. It made her look a bit silly, and that made me smile a little. Quickly, I remembered it's just a shoe-phone. Whatever slight enjoyment that had brought me quickly fled from my cheeks. Not that she could tell, this mask made sure of it. It's funny, how these ridiculous contraptions that once made me chuckle and snort with glee as I used them to destroy futuristic teleporters and launch rockets in to space by standing on a large pressure pad with several other men make me feel such emptiness now.
Stepping toward her, I extend my right hand forward. She hands me the clipboard. Pulling the phone a little further away from her chest and pressing her now-freed hand against the receiver. "Get out there, they're getting angry. And don't tell them anything that isn't written on there."
I sigh and step out of my bedroom, and walk down the hall to my den. The fireplace is blocked by a small stage with a podium on it. There are three rows of six chairs, each filled by men wearing press hats, and carrying notepads and pens. As I approach the podium, I let go of the clipboard, allowing it to plummet several inches to the flat, wooden surface. The small clack noise it causes is enough to bring the jittering, whispering crowd to a silence.
"Gentlemen, the first thing I noticed about all of you was the hats you are wearing. For that, I sincerely apologize."
Pauling snickers at that remark as she pulls a cold, metal folding chair up to the end of the row closest to the stage.
"Now, on to important matters. You all know why we're here, so I do not intend to waste any of your time. Mid-August of last year, Gray Mann assassinated both Blutarch and Redmond Mann, CEOs of Builders League United and Reliable Excavation Demolition respectively. Moments after, he began his hostile crusade against Mann Co. Most citizens of Badlands, New Mexico, saw this as a blessing initially. As you're all well aware, Gray Mann's war machines are moving uncomfortably close to home. The mercenary teams once belonging to RED and BLU continue to fight, strictly as employees of Mann Co. at this poi-"
Suddenly, a bell began ringing from my watch. I glanced and read the time, 8:00 pm. My eyes widened.
"Everyone, I sincerely apologize, but you'll all have to excuse me for a moment."
The crowd was suddenly roaring at me. I'd echo some of their insults, but they all blended together so well it was difficult to tell what exactly they were collectively telling me to force up my posterior. I understand why, of course. I deserve it. I'm abandoning them in the midst of trying to help their understanding why they will likely die soon.
As I make my way out of the room, Pauling stands up, grabs my arm and brings her face just inches from my own. I'd never seen her look quite this angry before.
"Where the hell do you think you're going, Barrineau?"
"I'll just be a moment."
"We might not have a moment, TF Industries is on the line. You're not an idiot, you know that means your life is too."
"Just a moment." I weakly repeated as I pulled my arm from her.
The dim hallway seems longer. I approach the door across from mine, and turn the knob. The lights are still on.
"You said you wouldn't be late, dad."
"I'm sorry, sweetheart." I try to follow that up with... anything, but I've never been one for excuses. Especially not to her. "I'm here now, though."
She smiled. God, I love that little smile.
Haven't seen it in awhile.
"Dad, what's happening?"
"Don't worry, little lapin... Just some grown-up things that need to be taken care of."
I tuck the blankets on her bed snuggly around her waist and legs.
"You're getting a lot taller, aren't you?"
"Sure am."
"How tall are you now? You must be at least 140 cm now, huh?"
"I don't know."
She hates me, I think.
"What is it, lapin?"
"Everyone says we're all gonna die. Is it true?"
"No, dear. Daddy will keep you safe."
"You keep everyone safe, daddy. Like a superhero!"
"Ehe. I wouldn't call myself any sort of hero, darling."
"That's cause real heroes never do, daddy. They're all modest and strong like you, and that's why I love you!"
"I love you too, Giselle. Very much. Daddy will always love his sweet little lapin."
I smiled at her, clicked her light off, and left the room. As the door closed, my smile slowly faded.
If only
I suddenly found myself back at the podium, dozens of angry eyes locked on to me. I'm not very used to having many people looking directly at me... rather unnerving.
"I sincerely apologize for the brief interruption gentlemen, I hope I didn't waste too much of your time. To continue from where I left off, all former RED and BLU employees are now employed by Mann Co., with the single goal of destroying Gray Mann's machines. We have held them off as best we can. There are rules we must abide by, and nothing can be done about that.
I will now entertain any questions you may have regarding the war against the robots."
Most of the crowd darted up, several of them raising their hands. I picked one at random.
"Archie Goodwin, Gravel Pit Gazette... How intelligent is the metal menace our society is currently facing?"
"According to our teams tactical mastermind and local Nose-Picking Contest winner, not very. A recent addition to their ranks, however, is quite intelligent. Enough so that independent construction of teleportation technology for its allies is possible. It doesn't seem to be much of a threat yet, and those specific models are our current focus. We haven't allowed a single one to move past Big Rock, a public park and wildlife reserve that is roughly a 3-hour drive from here."
"And the Mann Co. facility there... My sources say it's a warehouse and shipping center for headwear and a line of archaic weapon replicas designed to be used by and marketed to children?"
"That is correct, Mr. Goodwin. Next question, please."
"Yeah, Bill Evertt of the Fighting Scotsman. I got a question for ye."
"Go ahead."
"How about ya Mann Co. FUCKS just leave!?"
The crowd broke in to cheers and exclamations of agreement.
"I am contractually bound to remain faithful to Mann Co., as well as all parent companies."
"What the `ell does that mean?"
"I apologize. Next question?"
"Herb Trimpe, Badwater Bystander. I did an article on your tactics guy about a month ago. Please explain how you and your comrades aren't yet dead."
"Well, that's a bit of a story. My colleague, a Mr. Conagher, is quite the inventor. He's the visionary behind several life-extending contraptions, including the resupply ro-hh"
Miss Pauling darted up to the podium and covered my mouth with her hand.
"That'll be all for tonight, thank you everyone. We'll be holding another conference in the coming weeks."
The room emptied, and the Spy guided Miss Pauling to the living room. They took seats beside each other on a couch.
"Mr. Barrineau, you can't be spilling that sort of intelligence like nothing."
"Jean, please. Just call me Kieron."
"... Kieron, just because you don't care anymore doesn't mean everyone else gave up too. I still care about my job, quite a lot."
"Jean, I've been hit in the face with the same wrench by a very good friend of mine a quite honestly countless number of times, every day, for five years. It does not hurt to get hurt anymore."
"Well, I'm sorry... If that means a thing to you."
"Something, I suppose. I certainly appreciate it, if only for the gesture. So. Why did this situation need to fall on my shoulders? Why is there an eyesore erected in my den?"
"You, Mr. Doe, Mr. Ushakov and Mr. Mundy are stationed closest to their individual homes. Mundy lives in a van, and Yuri doesn't speak the best English."
"And our dear Soldier?"
She gave me the most deadpan look I had ever seen, and I have seen men lying dead outside of a medieval Scotland castle with a frying pan stuck to their face.
"I see. Well, it's getting late, Jean. Would you like me to walk you to your car?"
"That's alright. Thanks, though."
I walked her to the front door, and opened it. The crisp, winter air made her quite obviously cold and uncomfortable.
"Care to borrow my coat, Miss Pauling?"
"I'm perfectly fine. I certainly appreciate the offer, though. If only for the gesture."
She gave me a quick smile, and I returned it as I told her good night. As she began to step from the porch, she turned around and hugged me very tightly. "Feel better."
I did, a little.
I figured out how I feel about you
Several weeks pass, and I've left the comfort of my home once more in favor of the dirty, unpredictable battlefield. The desert sun sears the dry, eroded gravel that crunches beneath my feet with each step I take from this apparent museum which now serves as our base of operation. Stepping on to the bomb-hatch that will serve as the stage of our melodramatic performance, I breathe a deep breath and allow the dusty air to seep through and warm the derma surrounding my sunken eyes.
Glancing to my left, I see our team Sniper taking a nap in the shade of the "Panoramic View Of Coal" exhibit. He's using a stuffed koala with a little hat on as a pillow, and his right hand is grasping the grip of his rifle. With some sense of curiosity coursing through these frigid veins, I began to shuffle toward him, kicking up dust with each slumped step.
"Richard." I called out, waking him.
He mumbled something foul regarding his father. "Rick, wake up. I need to talk to you."
Rick's lips smacked with a mellow, lethargic rhythm.
"What're you needin'?", Rick staggered.
"I was hoping to talk."
"What about?"
"Nothing in particular."
"So, whut're you wanting? Just to shoot the shit?"
"In a word."
"Not like ya." Rick's mishandle of the English language was palpable. He spoke as an infant clutches a rattle in its brutish, Australian grip.
"Well, I hope you'll forgive this sudden divergence in behaivor. How are you?"
"Ah'm awright. Some knives, some spoons, all days. Feel me, mate?"
The dialect expressed by your typical Australian is quite astonishing... even frightning.
"I see."
The two of us sit there in silence for a moment.
"Ever play Chess?", I ask with a particularly unusual bluntness, as to break the silence.
"A little. Know the basics. Spend most a me time huntin', so table games aren't really my thing."
"Do you have any children, Rick?"
"Now that's one 'ell of a conversational transition is I ever 'eard 'un."
"My apologies if I've made anything awkward. You've always been a bit distant, and as far as I know, none of our comrades know much regarding your personal life."
"It's some shonky business yer tryin' ta get in to, mate. Y'shure y'wouldn't rather jus speak to Conagher about this sutff? Y'met his daughter."
"Do you ever get lonely, Rick?"
"What tha 'ell are you drivin' towards, ya... I don't even know yer name?"
"Gregorio."
"What... like the cookies?"
"You can just call me Gregor."
"Like the Overlander?"
"Again, do you have any children, Richard?"
"Almost."
"Would you like me to move away from the subject?"
"Nah, it's fine. 'ad me a woman of 13 years. Lucky number, I guess. We wanted a baby, we lost it, we moved apart. Normal human bein' stuff, ain't nothin' to cry over."
"With a heavy heart, I sincerely apologize, my friend."
"It's-"
Rick's usually keen, focused eyes seem clouded, hazed for a moment.
"Rick?"
"Eh-huh?"
"Are you alright?"
"Ah'm alright. Yeh."
"Do you ever talk to your gun?"
"In what sense?"
"As in... Do you refer to it by a name?"
"Greggy, lonliness is a pretty harsh mistress. But she turns me on more than any woman ever wanted to. You spend enuff time alone with a girl, she's gonna start to mean somethin' to ya."
Rick presents his rifle to me, which hadn't left his grip for a moment during our conversation.
"Levinia's 'er name."
I reach in to my suit and present my revolver. I've had her for quite a long time, and it is quite obvious how attached I've grown to her.
"She got a name, mate?"
"... I call her Happiness."
I've never so openly expressed myself to anyone.
"Cause she's not a girl who misses much, right?"
"Pardon?"
"Ehe, nothun', mate."
"Rick, I'm going to heed your words and go speak with Dell. Please excuse me."
"Awrighty. I'm gunna get back to sleep."
"Enjoy your rest."
"Help me out, un get me when the robots show up?"
"Certainly."
He has a watch, he has an alarm clock, he's fully capable of bringing himself to the fight with plenty of time to spare as he always has.
"Appreciate it, friend."
Walking up the ramp, and catching him looking at me and smiling made me look forward to waking him all the more. He waved to me, and called out "A dame to kill for, mate!"
I think that he forgot to say the first half of that sentence. Or perhaps he's so much more intelligent than I, that he thought it was too simple to be worth saying.
I settled on the former.
I'm hurtin' mighty bad
Making my way across the dry, barren desert town and up the steps to the roof of the Mann Mining Company building, I spotted Dell Conagher beating away at one of his contraptions. Dell has been a good friend of mine since the day I met him 5 or 6 years ago, when we first began working for RED and BLU. That was a good day. The teams were fighting at a lovely hydroplant. It's a shame that it's abandoned now, I really loved the feel of the place.
Anyway, Dell was at the top of this metal ledge guarding a control point with a turret he built. Feeling tenacious, I decided I'd try out some of the new gadgets sold to me by a previous proprietor. I used my reliable cloaking watch to sneak my way up there. Shed my cloak, attached my Electro Sapper for the first time... When Dell turned and faced me, only to see himself, he had the most distinct look of fear and loss on his face, as though he was entirely sure his life was over. I got lost in the moment and revealed myself, tearing the paper mask from my face and tossing it to the water below. Dell looked astonished for a moment, then clenched his teeth. Time moved... slower for that moment, as he put his left hand on my shoulder and struck the side of my skull with his wrench. Such savage strength and ferocity. That was my first time dying. It felt like being asleep for a long time. You know those sorts of rests where you blink, feeling as though only a second or two had passed, but it turns out to have been hours? And you realize you do feel entirely rested, though you didn't feel like you slept? It was exactly like that. Shift ended soon after, and he walked in to the resupply to collect his belongings while I was sitting on the bench icing my head. We looked at each other for a moment in silence, then we both began laughing. It lasted at least half a minute. Next thing I knew, it was almost 11 and we were still just sitting there, talking. About our technologies, about men we've killed in the past, about how excited we were for the game of cat and mouse we'd be playing for the next decade... and we were looking forward to it.
"Y'all awake in there, Greg?"
It seems I have found myself daydreaming again. Inattentiveness will cost me my life. Not that it matters.
"How are you today, Dell?"
"Doin' pretty damn good, boy. Take a lookie here at this new shotgun of mine, watch this."
Just like that, he leapt from the roof and ran out to the middle of the road.
"Watch this!"
In a flash, his fully constructed turret was in his hands, as though he had packed it all up himself.
"Marvelous. That shall certainly come in handy. Those teleporter robots won't be able to put up any sort of fight, will they?"
"Not an intelligent conversation's chance with the Soldier, no sir."
That was another thing I liked about Dell. He's a bit mean when he wants to be, and he knows all about how Jane Doe acts. He just does it to comfort me, I think.
"Speaking of the minds of children, Dell, I wanted to talk to you about yours."
Dell sort of stopped, and got a more serious tone to him. Furrowed brow, flexing muscles. He even stood a bit more straight.
"Whatcha got to say about my kid there, Greg?"
"Don't misunderstand me, amigo. I just wanted to know if you... had any good memories about your daughter?"
"Ah... Oh. Tons n' tons. I love that little girl. She's my whole world, Greg."
"Do you regret not spending enough time with her?"
"That's... a bit of a big question there, bud. Lemme tell ya a story, alright?"
I nodded as Dell went through his toolbox and produced from it a train conductor's hat. He handed it to me, and I examined it.
"I remember the first time I saw a train go by. My pa took me to the crossing one warm, summer evening. Ah watched wide-eyed as the ground shook beneath my feet. We stood there as it rolled toward us, faster and faster, whistle echoing throughout the golden sky. I could see the conductor in his cab, "that's gotta be the best seat in the world" I thought. I'd have mentioned something about it to my dad, but my jaw was just too busy hangin' there to actually be put to use. From that moment, whenever I saw a train, I longed to be in that seat of his. My hands on the controls, driving that big ol' mechanical beast. Years later, I take my daughter to the same crossing. I see the look of amazement on her sweet little face as the big, beautiful train rolls by. I know she wants to drive it too, I can tell by the look in her eyes"
Dell turned to me and pulled his googles down, letting them hang freely from his neck. Tears streamed down his cheeks. At this point, I was clenching his hat in my hands. I can compose myself, it's my job to keep my emotions under control. I decided, this time, I'd allow a few tears to fall. If only out of respect.
"My little girl gave me that hat yer holdin'. She musta convinced her mom to get it, and when she gave it to me, I held on to her for a long time. I told her I loved her, and I put it on, and we played train for hours until she fell asleep. Since then, I keep it with me all the time. It means a lot to me. You won't see me wearin' it much, cause like hell I'm gonna lose that precious thing. When you do see me wearin' it, Greg, it means I'm hurtin' for my little girl mighty bad."
"Thank you, Dell." I stuttered as I handed him his hat back.
"Greg, y'see Scout over there?"
Dell pointed to the chaps store across the road. Scout was laying on the roof, tossing a baseball in the air and catching it himself.
"Yes...?"
"Well, Scout's still just a kid. He's only in his 20's. He puts on a tough guy act, but he could use a dad right now."
"You think I should speak to him?"
"It'd mean a lot to him. Ah'd do it, but I didn't plow his mother and rub it in his face."
"I rubbed it in her face, too."
Dell looked at me with the eyes of a dead man. One who lacks a sense of humor, as well as a pulse. I don't normally joke like that unless we're playing poker or something, so I can see why, I guess.
"Sorry, sorry. Suppose I just earned it. Alright, off I am to have a heart to heart with the child."
"Means a lot to me, Greg. Thank you."
"And to you, friend. Grazie."
This fucking kid
Air dancing and waving through the waves of heat, the lustrous sun encroaches my vision with its scintillante light as I cross the road to the building across the way. "Chaps Dry Goods" is written across the building in white paint. Making my way to the rooftop, I find our team Scout laying in the shade, feet resting upward on a wooden box filled with artillery. For a "Scout", he wasn't much of one. Scouts are intended to be quiet, composed individuals. This child is a Scout in title alone, as his loud mouth and obnoxious attitude constantly remind me.
I've never found it easy to get along with him. Perhaps I find the way he handles his work insulting. Perhaps he's just so much younger than me, that I have no idea how to show him any sort of respect. He's only 26 years old. How a child his age managed to find work as a mercenary like this is far beyond me. Well, for now, I'll try to compose myself. Perhaps if I show him a bit of respect, we can compromise with ease.
"Wake up, child." I spoke in a stern voice as I kicked his ribcage.
Scout gasped and grasped his side, turning and digging himself in to the wall.
Honestly, I didn't expect that. I assumed he would yell at me and make some baseball-related remark.
"My most sincere apologies. I didn't think that I kicked you that hard."
"Yuh fuckin' French piece a shit, don't fuckin' do that."
"Again, I sincerely apolo-"
"GOD, FUCK YOU, that shit HURT YOU CHEAP SHOT TAKIN' mother fuck..."
"You're overreacting."
"I'll show ya overreactin'. Gawd, fuck you, ferget it. What do ya want?" Scout's words rushed as he did in the thick of battle.
"I just wanted to talk to you."
"What the fuck about."
"I'm just interested in-"
"Yuh got a really FUCKIN' GREAT CONVERSATION STARTER THERE, PRICK."
Scout kicked the box of munitions over, spilling bullets and ammo clips across the hardwood roof which served as the floor beneath us.
"I wanted to know how you were doing. Wanted to see if you needed anyone to talk to."
"You kiddin' me? Do I look like I'm 'bout to go squirting titty milk all over dem robots, or somethin? Don't fuckin' think so. Ain't no fuckin' girl, you white-flag wavin' shapeshifter."
I decide to take a seat next to the child, in hopes of showing him that I'm serious. He scoots away as I'm sitting down.
"What's your name? We've known one and other for years now, but we've never been formally introduced beyond job titles."
"I usually just go with Scout. It's fittin', I think. Used to get called Babe as a kid."
"Babe? Isn't that rather fruity?"
"Ain't as fruity as yer candy ass. That's the name of the greatest Baseball player dat eveh lived. Better show summore respect."
"Quite the showman, wasn't he?"
"Hell yeah. Only way ta prove you're actually da best is ta grab it with both hands and force it down der throats, know what I'm sayin'?"
"Eheh."
Such a weakness I hold for those types of remarks. They always make me laugh.
"What da hell yeh laughin' at?"
"It's just funny, this light I'm seeing you in. You always struck me as a punk kid who didn't know what he was doing."
"Yeh, go on. Tell me how frikkin' wrong you were."
"Interesting means of coping, Babe."
Scout's cheeks turned as bloodshot as my own eyes, squinting, as the sun shine illuminated behind this child. Outlining him, allowing me to see him.
"Soo... hey, frog."
"Yes?"
"You got a name, or what?"
"You can just call me Greg."
"I bet you got a shit load a names, huh? You tell everyone somethin' different, don't ya?"
"What... makes you think that?
"Miss Pauling called you Key-ron, or somethin' like that one time. Iunno French or nothin', but I'm pretty sure that ain't that."
"..."
"Language."
"Well, you're right. I'm going to trust you enough to say that I don't use my real name for work-related matters."
"You hang out with Jean a lot, don'tcha?"
"As far as work is concerned. Nothing beyond that."
"Really?"
He sounded excited.
"That's right."
"Ay, Kieron, y'got any dame y'er in to?"
Shit.
"Why do you ask?"
"No partiulars or nuttin', just wonderin'. Mr. Conagher's got his wife, Tavish is "too busy for women" cause he's takin' care of his mom all the time. Pft, yrah right. And I'm pretty sure ol' Janey McRedrocket just cuts holes in cans a baked beans and puts tape around the sharp parts."
"How do you know so much about this subject? You're so young."
"I ain't that young, man. I'm old enough to buy dirty magazines if I wanna. Now you gunna answer or what? I won't tell anyone or nuthin'."
I can hear it in his voice. This is how people speak to one and other when they're friends. He warmed up to the idea so quickly. I guess he is as lonely as Dell assumed.
"I do... have a woman, that is."
"Ahoho, now we're talkin'! Tell me 'bout 'er, is she sexy?"
"I don't think that's something you would want to concern yourself with."
"Why da hell not?"
"Just trust me."
"Well, then how long 'ave you known 'er?"
"Over 30 years."
"You married or somethin'?"
"Nah... no, no we're not."
"Gee, you must not be nearly as smooth as you act."
"Enough of this."
"Whut, thought you trusted me. You did ten seconds ago, why's this off limits? Y'think I'mma kidnap er' or somethin'? I ain't."
"..."
"Yuh, fuck you too I guess."
"You really should show your elders respect, boy."
"Yea? Well I think you sh-"
"Woman like Jean are attracted to that sort of thing."
He looked like he had been hit in the head with a Baseball. I had his attention.
"How much do you like Jean, boy?"
"A lot."
"And you know you're never going to get her if you keep acting foolish, don't you?"
"Yea... Yeah, maybe."
"No maybe, William Bonnette Clavin, only do."
Standing up, I kicked a shoe off and in to his lap. He made a distinctive oof noise, the kind a man only makes when he's handed something and his mind isn't there to catch it.
"Speed dial 2, call her."
"The fuck, I can't. An don't use my real name, it's dumb."
"I told you to listen to your elder, and you will. And it's a lovely name that means a lot to your mother."
"I don't think I should."
"I know you should. What's the worst that can happen?"
"She could like come out of the shoe. Except she'd have my dad's head and eat my penis, or something."
"Do you know your father?"
Suddenly, Scout's appearance grew quite stern.
"No, I don't. An where I'm from, that's a fuckin' question you ask someone who you want to kick yer ass."
"I didn't know mine either. I did know, however, that I would have loved to have a father to help me to understand how to handle my feelings toward that special woman."
"Y'know I fuckin' hate you for what you do with my mom."
Never had I seen a man swing so bluntly between waves of emotion. Talking to this boy is like riding a rollercoaster, except without seatbelts and also without a track. It was ridiculous.
"Just cause my ma thinks yer good enough to talk to doesn't mean you get to play daddy for me.", Scout continued.
"Your mother means a lot to me. Are you going to call Pauling or can I have my shoe back?"
Scout plopped down against the wooden roof and said "Fine, but if this goes bad, I'm gunna start pissin' in yer coffee."
"..."
"And I drink a lot a energy drinks."
"..."
"I piss pretty weird."
"Call her, boy."
"Wouldn't it piss 'er off if I call 'er boy?", Scout scoffed as he started dialing.
"Oh my God, you are such a..."
"Ay, shuddup over there, it's ringin'."
"What do you need, Mr. Barrineau?"
"Ehe, Barrineau? Thas a dumb name." The Scout laughed and looked at me.
"Mr. Clavin, how did you get on Mr. Barrineau's line?"
"Oh, hey Miss Pauling. That ain't important, but y'wanna know what is?"
Miss Pauling sighed. "Go ahead, Scout."
His expression changes from that of a chuckling child to that of a chuckling child who just watched his dog get run over by a car.
"I, uh... I guess I jus wanteduh say..."
"Please make this quick, I have work to do."
"If yer busy I can call back..."
"N-No... Scout, that doesn't sound like something you'd say. Is something the matter?"
She was showing concern. The sort that goes beyond employee-employer. I encouraged him in a way I knew would work for him- I made a dumb smiling face, put two thumbs up and slowly nodded.
"One sec.", Scout quickly covered the speaker and looked at me.
"I don't wanna blow this, what the hell do I say now."
"Have faith in your feelings. Don't disrespect her."
"Gotcha." Scout moved his hand from the speaker.
"Jean?"
"What is it, Scout?"
"I'm sorry."
Huh.
"Huh?"
"Said I'm sorry, Jean. For, y'know. I ain't a womanizer or nothin'. I've never even been with a girl. Just, yeah. Don't really know where to go from here. Been an idiot, you don't deserve it or nothin', it's disrespectful. Yer a smart, interestin' woman. Way more than just beautiful, the damn good looks are like a bonus. I don't expect ya to just forgive me or nothin'. I'm just hopin' at this point we can be friends, an' you can look at me like I'm not a total piece a shit while we're workin'."
"Scout..."
Truly, truly did not expect all that from him. The child learns fast, I suppose.
"Scout, the robots are going to attack pretty soon." Pauling sounded rather taken back. "We'll talk about this tonight, alright?"
"Thank you, Jean." Scout responded. "I'll call ya."
"I look forward to it."
She hung up, Scout turned to me and tossed me the shoe-phone.
"She fell for it!"
This fucking kid.
This fucking kid, I swear to God.
"Whut's with the look, old man? This is a good thing, I can tank ya enough!"
"Are you planning on only using that poor woman?"
"What? Naw, course not!"
"What did you mean then, "she fell for it"?"
"Iunno, I suck at expressin' myself. Nuthin' bad or nuthin'."
"Are you just saying that?"
"No, I'm friggin' not."
"Well... I'll trust you."
"No reason not ta."
"If you betray my trust, I will do to you with my knife what you plan to do to her."
"Yer gunna take yer knife out ta dinner? Dat's cool, Big Yuri's in to that kinna shit."
"I'm going to stick it in you from behind, Babe."
"Whoa, whoa. It's a little soon for that, I mean, I ain't that kind of girl, Greg!"
All I can think to do is just... sigh, and carry along.
"It's almost time to begin, Scout. Are you prepared?"
"Hell yeah, friggin' rarin' to go."
Not long ago, that sort of arrogance would make me want to punch him. It still does, but...
No, no. I still want to punch this kid.
The light of day doesn't burn my skin,
but it makes me have to squint my eyes.
The icy steel table burns what small amount of exposed flesh my tattered sleeves cannot cover. Scout attempts to nudge closer to Pauling as she speaks, and she continues to nudge him away. She's smiling though, so I'm pretty happy for him. The entirety of the team is here, sitting at this table. Tavish is leaning back in his chair, sneaking swigs from his flask. Dell looks as attentive as ever. Soldier is Soldier.
I glance out the window to my right. Snow is drizzling to the ground as blood from a knifewound.
I can see my reflection in the window. My sunken eyes, my disgusting, skinny outline.
"Mr. Barrineau, how do you feel about this?"
I nod, and slowly continue to look away.
"Mr. Barrineau, that attitude isn't very good for team morale."
"My apologies."
"Well then, everything you'll need is inside. Say goodbye to your loved ones and report back here in 24 hours."
"What for?", I ask.
"You, of all people, should have been paying attention. I don't have time for this, your comrades will fill you in."
And like that, she was gone.
"Y'outta pay attention, Greg.", Dell chortled as he elbowed me in the ribs.
"What's going on?", I mumbled.
"We're headin' out ta Gray's island tuhmorrow."
Mildly caught of guard, Scout punches me in the arm a couple of time and shouts "We're goin' fer uh submarine ride, buddy!"
"A submarine? To confront Gray directly? And how will we make our way through the legions of killer robots?"
"You really shoulda been payin' attention. The ride's gonna take a cool month or so, enough time to lead Gray on in tuh thinkin' we quit. By the time we get there, all his soldiers'll be takin' over Mann Co. buildings."
"A month?"
God damn it.
"Yeup. If things work out right, we'll get ta take out the device built in ta Gray's spine that sends the robots their orders and stop em' before any major damage is dealt."
"Not a bad plan, I suppose."
Glancing at my watch, I note that it's almost 7:30 pm. The drive home will take me about half an hour.
"Well, excuse me, gentlemen. I'm rather short on time. Good night."